


Look Down

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Gen, Inspired by Music, semi-crossover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-12
Updated: 2012-04-24
Packaged: 2017-11-03 13:15:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/381729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of the apocalypse and all its major players, with inspiration from the musical, <i>Les Miserables</i>. There's a set continuity, but no one character from Supernatural really represents a single one from the musical. Each chapter will be a song/group of songs. </p><p>How did the apocalypse all start? With the theft of just a mouthful of bread.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

            It was a slightly warmer day in Hell, though certainly not unusually scalding, when Alastair came to Dean Winchester for the last time. "You'll always be here, Dean," he said, extending a blade out to the Winchester suspended on his rack, "don't fight it. You deserve it." Dean thought about refusing him, going one day more, but he was already coughing up chunks of his own lungs and he just wanted it to be over. With some hesitation, Dean took the blade from the demon and watched as he was released from his chains, able to walk amongst the other shadowy figures that once looked human, but now were just contorted and animalistic shadows of their former selves, grotesque and putrefying--a demon's true form. Soon, he would be like them, but not soon enough.

            The first person Dean came to was a woman, not unfamiliar to Dean. Not at all. "Look down." Alastair commanded, and so Dean did. Bela Talbot, Abby, Alex, Whatever name she went by these days, was strung up just as he had been, and his heart nearly broke. But soon, the feelings of the past faded and Dean was able to raise his knife, just as Alastair had wanted him to. It didn't take long for her to scream, not long at all. A light flashed through Hell and all the monsters cheered. Dean looked up to see him, but was met by another command. "Look _down!_ " Alastair shouted again. The next cut came easily, and so did the next, until he couldn't even remember why he was so angry at her in the first place. However, something about her sickened him, something that made his skin crawl. He never came back to her after that first time, no. They never saw each other again.

            _Ten years in Hell later_ , another blinding light came through Hell, but this one wasn't so sinister. In fact, it was truly angelic. The angel, Castiel, had descended into perdition to pull Dean Winchester from the fire, to remove him from Alastair's grasp. It was a kind gesture, one Dean could use to rewrite his life and redeem himself from torturing all those souls on the rack, but it was over just as quickly as it began. The angel left, and Dean was alone again, having to rediscover life on Earth by himself.

            Dean didn't want his family to know what he did in Hell, not at all. Sam and Bobby would try to get him to talk, but Dean would keep his mouth shut and swallow down more whiskey. At night, however, he would stay awake while the others slept, cogitating. "What have I done?" Dean asked himself, tapping his fingers against a desk in Bobby's house. But, he'd never ask himself how he could make himself feel better. He knew that. "Saving people, hunting things. The family business." He'd take care of Sammy and save people, just as he always did. Nothing was going to change, except for the amount of alcohol consumed. Even then, he didn't know if he could ever forgive himself for his sins.


	2. At the End of the Day/I Dreamed a Dream/Lovely Ladies/Fantine's Arrest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We arrive at the Roadhouse, two years before Dean came back from Hell, to see some of the players in the Apocalypse.

_\--_

            "We risk out lives for these people all the time, Ellen." A hunter said with his forehead resting against this hand. "And at the end of the day, what do we get? Nothing."

            "Yeah, Mark!" Another shouted from the back of the bar. "Pulled a broad out of a rougarou's trap, and she just screamed and kicked me. Not even a thank you! What an ungrateful--" Ellen cut the hunter off with a sharp look, and he returned to drinking his beer as if nothing had happened. A hunter's life was never one of receiving praise, and they'd never know a tiny bit of recognition for their hard work. They wouldn't complain, as it kept the general public blissfully unaware of what was going on behind everyone's backs.

            "A hunter's job isn't to be thanked. It's to save _lives_. Now hush up and drink your goddamn beer." Ellen said, hitting Martin's hands with a wet dishrag. He yelped, causing some of the hunters to chuckle, but the other, gruffer ones didn't even budge. Their faces remained in their semi-permanent scowls that only seemed to leave their faces when they toasted the bones of a particularly nasty haunt. These hunters were the war veterans, the jaded men (And few women) that frequented the Roadhouse run by Ellen Harvelle and her daughter, Jo. These hunters, along with the death of Ellen's husband, Bill, lead the barkeep to want to keep her daughter out of that life, even if Jo didn't agree with her mother's wishes.

            Unlike the Marks and Martins of the Roadhouse, Jo's desire to hunt was not fuelled by a need for thank-yous or recognition. Ever since she was little, Jo had looked up to her father and what her father did. He was her superman, her superman that got a dose of kryptonite a bit too early. The long days in the Roadhouse, where Jo had spent her entire life, were beginning to wear on her. Seeing the world was more interesting, and being able to emulate her father was another plus. Getting out of Nebraska was a top priority of Jo's, especially after her college education went south. Being a hero for once, like her dad, was even better than a thank-you.

            At the end of the day, Jo was always going to go off against her mother's wishes, even if it would get her killed, or would get unsavory clientele to come to the Roadhouse, looking for the Joanna Beth they met on the road, which made Ellen's skin crawl. Some, however, hung around and waited for Jo to come back, which was even worse. Gordon Walker was popping by more than he used to, ordering the same drink over and over again while trying to pick fights with the other hunters.

            Another one of such clientele was Miss Bela Talbot of London, who walked like a duchess and stole like one of Fagin's brigade. Neither ignorant, nor hunter, Bela didn't fit in either community, but frequently found herself in the Roadhouse, selling to hunters and bickering as she did. She was always preoccupied with looking at her wrists, but she never wore a watch at all, making the other patrons scratch their heads. However, some people were more observant and filled in the missing parts of the puzzle that was Bela.

            "Hey there, Talbot. Watcha starin at?" One of Bela's regular customers heckled at her, holding his beer in the air. "Subsection X?"

            "Shut up, you bloody son-of-a--" She cut herself off prematurely, realizing that her reaction gave her away. The demon deal written all over her skin so that only she could see was now giving her a countdown, a countdown to her last day to live.

            "Hear that, boys? She really is satanic."

            "I said _shut it_ , or I'll _make_ you shut it, Tiger." Bela pulled her pistol out of her pocket and pointed it at him, ready to shoot at any moment. This action made Ellen turn her head towards the pair, dishrag and glass in hand, a disapproving glare on her face.

            "Take it outside, Talbot. And don't even think about coming back. Jo isn't." The look on the barkeep's face was icy and gruff, laced with sadness for her daughter that ran away from her. Bela was Jo's friend, and a reminder that things were no longer the same between the mother and daughter duo. The staredown between the thief and huntress continued until Bela stomped out with her drink still in hand, her dignity now shattered like a mirror around her feet.

\--

            There was a time in Bela's life when she would take advantage of opportunities. She'd go out to clubs and dance and come home with strange men and women and smoke and drink and lived the life. If something came up that was spontaneous and different and dangerous, she'd go. Sure, it was a brief period, sometime after she made her deal, but it was a period nonetheless.

            There was another time, one where she'd sit in her room with her dolls and dream of a better life, when she still had to deal with her parents' various abuses mostly physical at first, before her father's violation of her body was at its peak. She would daydream quite a lot in those days, wishing that it would all go away, but it never did. Every day, she'd be ripped from her daydreams and slapped back into cold, harsh reality.

            Sometimes, she pretended that she was a princess in a castle, who fought her own wars and killed her own dragons, and locked all of her enemies in her dungeon. She was strong and independent in her daydreams, but then her father would come and she'd have to face reality, and become Abby again. At school, she acted as the antagonist, snapping at other children if they tried to talk to her. Somehow, it made her feel stronger, but her strength was false and thin, like a thin coat of paint used to hide graffiti on walls. It never actually covered, but it worked well enough to satisfy her. Despite her bumpy relations with her peers, she achieved top marks in school, and was on her way to bigger and brighter things--until the demon came.

            But even before then, Bela--little Abby came up with schemes to get herself free, many of them convoluted and illegal. One involved her kitten, some homemade chloroform, and a kitchen knife, but one of the maids that her father was sleeping with caught her and locked her in the coat closet. Abby could never understand why Mina loved her father, even if she knew what he did to his daughter, but it made perfect sense for her mother and father to be matched. They were equally as conniving and evil, and it didn't seem like a more perfect match could be made even if their relationship was only truly on paper. Edward had several mistresses, Elizabeth spent most of her time drunk on the couch in a loving relationship with señor tequila, and they didn't even sleep in the same bed. They stayed together to keep up appearances, the same reason why they had Bela in the first place. They didn't try to hide it from the girl, either. Everything was always blamed on Abby, even things that she couldn't help, or that weren't her fault. It was always Abby, and that was why Bela would pretend.

\--

            "I smell humans." Lilith said, looking at her newr meatsuit's hands. She was possessing a blonde with an ample bosom and long, fake fingernails, neither usually found on Lilith's normal hosts. "Oh. It's just _Bela._ " she spat, saying the thief's name like it was Holy Water in her mouth.

            "Yeah, it's her, but this is our _opportunity,_ Lil." Crowley replied, sipping on his tea in a manner that oozed class. One leg was crossed over the other, something that Lilith always rolled her eyes at, but Crowley didn't plan on elaborating on his statement. His eyes stayed locked on hers, a knowing smile on his face. While Lilith was always the brawn of the two, Crowley was definitely the brain.

            Bela came by the hotel room a few minutes later, nearly out of breath from a particularly rigorous chase. Adrenaline was pulsating through her veins in a way that she had come to love, and when she plopped down on teh couch, it was not without a well-deserved sigh. "I got your amulet, Bos--"

            "New assignment. Heard of Samuel Colt, Love?" Crowley asked, waving away his teacup before she could even blink.

            "Gunmaker, right? Supposedly made _the_ gun? Crowley, if you want me to go after the Colt, you truly are mad. It doesn't _exist._ " Bela responded, her face so sure. After all these years, she would have known by now if such a gun existed. However, to Crowley, she hadn't searched hard enough.

            "You're familiar with John Winchester, are you not?" Crowley asked while giving Bela a staredown. "His sons have the gun."

            "I'm not playing around with John Winchester. Not after the last tim--"

            "He's dead, Old Johnny boy. There's no problem. Go. Find Sam and Dean. Maybe if you're good, we'll discuss making that ten-year rule disappear." It was an offer that she could not refuse. It could save her life. So, without hesitation, she left for America, heading to the airport as quickly as she could.

            And so Bela tried to befriend the Winchesters, but her plan backfired on her terribly. She found that she enjoyed being around them, even if they thought she was a bitch half the time. So, when it came time to rid them of their gun, she was hesitant to. But, it could save her life. Taking that gun was the hardest thing she had ever had to steal, due to the fact that she was betraying her only freinds.

            When she brought the gun back to Crowley, he didn't greet her with a smile, but an ultimatum: kill Sam, or go to Hell. "But, you said I had to bring you the gun, and you'd let me go!" Bela protested, trying to find a way to get to Crowley without him snapping her neck. Unfortunately, though, she couldn't find one. Any attempt would end with her taking a lava cruise around the eighth circle before she could even scream.

            "I said, 'Bring me the gun, and we'll talk.' This is us talking. Now, what's it going to be?" At first, Bela didn't respond. She had never killed anyone besides her parents, and even then, she hadn't known that it was going to happen. She just wanted to make it stop--she hadn't known what she was getting into.

            "Fine," Bela said, stepping close to Crowley, "let's make a deal." The two locked lips, and then Bela went on her way.

\--

            "Tell me quickly, what's your story, Bela?" Dean said, pressing his gun to her temple while she attempted to blink back tears. She opened her mouth to explain herself, but she couldn't. Making excuses didn't work with Dean's father, and they sure as Hell wouldn't work on him. Dean was trying to cheat Hell as well, but anything Bela said wouldn't pluck on his heartstrings. Dean was a hypocrite, that couldn't be debated, but he was running out of time and his opinions were the worst. No one understood Bela's reasoning, and what made Dean different? Nothing. They were at a stalemate with each other, Bela looking Dean right in the eye. Finally, Bela closed her mouth again. "Well? What do you have to say for yourself, Sweetheart?"

            She was sure he was going to kill her, and she was ready. A bullet to the head would be much less painful than what Lilith had planned for her, and since she wasn't able to off Sam... "Dean..." She then closed her eyes, ready to be the first casualty of the apocalypse, when Dean removed the gun from her forehead and walked off. He had seen the shoestring above the door of her hotel room. There was no going back. Before he left, she managed to swipe a receipt out of his pocket--possibly her last chance to walk free. It was her golden ticket at the moment, and she didn't bother to be particularly careful plucking it from his pocket. She'd make her end of the deal, and it wouldn't be the last thing she'd do.

 

 

 


End file.
